


The Redeemer

by OhBelieveYouMe



Category: Leap of Faith - Menken/Slater/Cercone
Genre: Confessions, F/M, IS IT NIGHTINGALE OR NIGHTENGALE, Leap of Faith, Lust, while Jonas is still a dirtbag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 19:22:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9399263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhBelieveYouMe/pseuds/OhBelieveYouMe
Summary: No one here butmecan make a miracle.I’mthe guy who pulls the strings.





	

**Author's Note:**

> No one here but **me** can make a miracle.  
>  **I’m** the guy who pulls the strings.

A slight, waif of a young woman had been on her knees, praying.  
For strength, for bravery, for the chance to reach out to Him directly. 

The floorboards left indents in her skin, the words of God had been carved in her heart.

On a whim, she had visited the  _Revival_ that had wandered into her little ghost town. Never before had the thought of a Heavenly Entity sapped the fear from her soul: the thought of redemption, through cash and contrition- she needed it. But for that: she needed  _him_.

The miracle worker, the route straight to the lord. She had chosen the loveliest outfit she owned, albeit there weren’t exactly many options; a floral sundress, dark tights, her only pair of worn-out shoes, accentuated with a shawl made of lace to try and maintain her humility and hide her bare shoulders. She wasn’t one for makeup, no, but just for this situation- she had painted her lips, as pink as the petals on the roses that used to grow outside her front door.

Not anymore, though.   
No roses, no breakfast, no rain, no relief.

But, now, there was a chance. A chance she’d have to take.  
And when she found him alone, out by the familiar tent, she thought her prayers had finally been answered.

“R-Reverend?”

Jonas Nightingale spun on his heel, a cheshire grin pulling on either ends of his lips. Oh he **_loved_** it when they called him that, anyone really- but coming from a pout as pretty as hers certainly heightened his affinity for the phrase. Thoughtfully, his eyebrows rose, and he graciously took up her hands in his own. “Oh yes, my dear child-” with the new hold on her, he pulled; she mindlessly tumbled over her own feet towards him. “How can I help you, just let me know.”

Help. Oh, she’d never needed anything more. Little tears sprouted in the corners of her blue eyes, and she nibbled on the bottom of her lip. “R-Reverend, I…”

“Oh sweet thing, don’t you stammer, shhh” he curled a fingertip under her chin, and bit back a satisfied smirk when she physically trembled at his touch. It was as if he were God himself, Jonas adored it, got high on the power of his perceived authority. “One just has to ask in order to receive, no need for crying with lips made for praise, oh no.” Praise, and other things, he considered in the darker recesses of his mind as he traced over the mentioned simper and gathered just a brush of the pink paint on his thumbs.

The mere fact he would be so warm with her brought the familiar glimmer of reverence and optimism to those wet eyes; he was her only hope and he knew it without even needing context. Perfect. “Reverend, I’m afraid I may have lost my way,” she whimpered again, and Jonas plumped his lips while moving to boldly to brush the tears from her cheeks. She was awfully pretty, he thought to himself while trying to also focus on what she had to say. “I’ve SINNED, Reverend, and I want to be saved.”

Oh, he’d save her. Over, and over, and over again if he got the chance. “So you’ve been a _bad_ girl?” The way he said it made a blush rise to her paled cheeks, and he had to bite onto his bottom lip to keep back a devilish smirk. “Salvation is for everyone, but especially for the sinners,” his fingertip wagged to enforce his point, and just barely brushed against her cheek. “I assume you’ve attended the revival?”

Eagerly, she nodded, repetitiously. “Oh of course, Father, it’s just-” Shamefully, her gaze fell, down past his nice suit jacket and to the toes of her black shoes. Jonas happily stepped closer, stalking around her like a hungry dog going for a bone, until his chest grazed ever so lightly against her side; he bowed to try and give off the impression that his proximity was related to an interest in her speech. Rather, his careful placement put him in a prime position to get a good view down her gown’s plunging neckline; he wondered if everything hidden in that otherwise modest dress was as black and lacy as the top of her bra. “I’m dirt poor, Reverend, especially after the first and second evening’s tithes-”

She’d been there both nights? And he hadn’t noticed her? Jonas found it unlikely, unless she had been hiding back in the shadows the whole time. He nodded along as she spoke, and tried to come off as ‘concerned’ instead of revealing how he was much more fascinated with how easily that dress would open up if he gave the knot on her hip a solid tug….

“But I’m frightened, I don’t want to be…” she leaned closer to him, pressing her shoulder into his chest while craning up so she could whisper near his face. “ _ **Damned**_.” Her hot breath fell over his ear, down his neck, and it took every ounce of his Holy Spirit to keep from ravishing her right there in the field. “I just, I have nothing else to give.”

She went to slide back down to flat feet, but he coddled her instead. Jonas whispered an array of ’ _hush_ ’s and ’ _there, there_ ’s while cradling the back of her head in one hand so he could lay her face against his shoulder. Happily, she melted against the ‘good’ preacher, and he ran his free palm up and down her spine. He buried his face in her hair, and inhaled sharply, disguising the shameless chance to enjoy her rosey perfume by pulling her into a tight hug.

“If your faith is strong enough, dear, then that’s what really matters,” his reassurances came softly, and they warmed her weary heart better than the relentless sun had been able to do these last many months. “Why don’t you just be honest, with yourself and the Lord,” and _him_ , because Jonas would be lying more than usual if he said he wasn’t dying to know what this precious little bad girl had done to make her heart so heavy. “I’ll pray with you, and we’ll cleanse your soul together, my child.” Her soul, sure, and he’d love to help cleanse all the other parts of her too.

Immediately, she flourished at the suggestion, apparently that was a _great_ idea. “Oh please,” personally, Jonas would be praying for her to beg him like that again, and again. “Please, Reverend Nightingale, will you? Can you?” Her eyes were filled with hope, and it felt as if her entire body was vibrating with joy, he could feel it everywhere she was leaned against him.

Of course he could- _he could do anything_. And so, Jonas huddled her closer to him, and shifted behind her so his chest was flush with her back, providing her a new backbone. Methodically, he slid his palm over her clavicle and under that pretty shawl, so he could lay the ball of his hand over her heart; he’d swear he could feel the beat against his life line. “Dear Lord,” he bowed over her, leaning his cheek against her temple so he could watch her eyelashes flutter shut. Carefully, his other hand danced down her bare arm, until he could lace his fingers with hers and raise the bundle of fists up to the sky. “Lord above, please be with us and read the heart of your precious child-”

He paused, and she rocked from her heels to her toes before replying proudly to the prompt; “Marilyn.”

Marilyn. Lovely name, sweet and innocent, much like she appeared to be. “Lord, find the purity of Marilyn’s sweet little heart,” she wriggled in delight and Jonas sighed at the subtle friction of her chiffon dress against his wool suit. “We **_allll_** ,” his voice was a roar even though they were the only two there to listen, the bellowing drowned out any doubts that could have possibly formed in her mind before they were even there. Thoughtlessly, her head lolled backwards and found his shoulder, until she was practically lounged against him. He certainly did not mind. “We all have been sinners, but with your light, good Lord- and through our faith, you can wipe our slates so very clean-”

His palm against her chest felt heavier, but really he was pulling her closer, so he could funnel his next line through her curls. “Darling Marilyn, confess your sins, and you shall feel the weight of the world lift from your heart.” _Yes, tell Father Jonas your deepest secrets_ \- he rocked his hips backwards to try and shield his slight excitement. 

She began: “Oh, Lord-” Jonas shamelessly nuzzled his cheek against hers the moment she started to speak, waiting with baited breath to hear what apparently sullied her soul so intensely she chose to seek him out. “Good Lord, hallowed be thy name-” His fingers slid under the covering of her dress, just to the first knuckles; he hid the sneaky pseudo-grope by patting gently at her rampantly thudding heart. “I’ve succumbed to sin,” her lips trembled and Jonas hummed gently to coax her to go on, while trying to picture in his mind what it would look like to roll those tights down those long legs and to her ankles…

“A _deadly_ one, good Lord, and I cannot bare the horrors of my secrets any longer,” her voice hitched, Jonas thought she’d cry again, but instead the encouragement of having a Man Of God draped over her guided the final outburst: “Oh Lord, I’ve been _a bad girl_.” He smiled to himself when she repeated his earlier statement; _oh yes she has_. “A **_harlot_** , a victim and participant in the sin of Lust…”

Oh, she has?

Immediately, Jonas’ eyes bolted open, and he twist his face ever so slightly until his nose pressed against her cheek. “I’ve been reckless and horrible, dear Lord; absorbed in sins of the flesh and adorning immodest attire.” He’d have loved to see the _attire_ she spoke of. Unable to resist, he did a quick double-take, and his eyes found the very top of the lace bra he had noticed earlier just mere inches from his pinky; he had to tighten his hold on her chest to resist the urge to explore. Maybe there _was_ a chance she matched further down in that bulky dress…

“But Lord, I’ve changed my ways, I’ve found **you** when the good preacher came to town-” _Ooof course she did_. Dammit. Why did he have to go with the preacher shtick, why couldn’t he sell cars or knives like every other respectable con man? Bet they didn’t have these problems, and he’d _looooove_ to lay her out in the back of an old SUV; make her call out to God for reasons other than salvation. “I’ll be forever grateful for Reverend Nightingale and his angels,” Jonas thought he couldn’t breathe; he had come across a broke, lovely, loose woman and he just _haaaad_ to go and instill damned **morals** into her. “And I vow to live my life and save my body,” symbolically, she used her free hand to graze down her newly devoted form; trailing fingertips from where his hand lay on her skin and down, over her belly until she reached her core- he couldn't look away if he tried. Jonas was starting to think he was holding onto the wrong hand, he’d have rather accompanied that one- “For you, my Lord, and you alone.”

 _Fuck, lucky deity._ Jonas groaned under his breath, but buried it away through a cough almost as fake as his identity. “And there you have it, good Lord,” since she was still lost in the moment, he took advantage, and brought their arms down from the sky so he could curl them both around her waist. “Cleanse precious Marilyn’s soul with your light,” _or don’t, that’d be just fine too;_ “rid her of the lu **sssssss** tful thoughts plaguing her mind,” _or at least incorporate him into some of them, that would be lovely,_ “show her your love-” _or, he could do it for him, Jonas would gladly take one for the team-_ “and bring her back to the final evening of our revival so we can celebrate in her new purity.”  _Pretty please._

Marilyn felt born anew, weightless, and she mindlessly slumped back against her confidant. An airy smile came over her features, and Jonas took the chance to nuzzle his face into the crook of her neck. Another breath, more of that rosey smell that he’d think of later when he was alone in his bunk; that scent and those tights. He spoke against her skin, wishing he could be leaving kisses instead of talking to his partner in crime; “In your name, we pray, oh Lord-” time to cut this short, he needed a cold shower. “Amen.”

“Oh, Amen!” Once their prayer concluded, the lithe woman literally squealed, and unblushingly squirmed in his embrace for the few moments it took to convince himself to loosen his grip. Once freed, she turned to face him, and threw her arms around his neck before he even had a chance to excuse himself, hugging herself up against him. “Oh, Reverend,” the title felt much less sweet and much more teasing now that he knew her little secret, Jonas rolled his eyes to the sky in damnation when he was sure she couldn’t see him. _Thanks, Lord, thanks for that reality check._ “You’re a miracle worker, I can feel the Holy Spirit inside of me already,” if she didn’t stop with the double entendres, however innocent they were, he’d likely be unable to keep up the act ( _but he wished the Holy Spirit wasn’t the only one with access_ ), “Thank you, Reverend, oh thank you!”

Sweetly, she plumped her pout against his cheek, and his own eyelids fluttered at the kind affection. There were many other places he’d like to feel that electricity, but instead, she grabbed hold of his shoulders and held herself out at arm’s length. His nose crunched as he forced a smile for her, trying to match the joy in her own, but for once- it felt like he had been the one who was duped.

“Go along then, my child-” Since he could, Jonas reached for her, and lovingly tangled his fingers in her hair behind her ears. God, she was really, _really_ pretty. Her own hands curled around his wrists, and she blushed while nestling her cheeks against his palms. “Go home and tell everyone you see of the miraculous cleansing of the Lord,” he bit onto the inside of his cheek when she placed succinct pecks on the parts of his wrist she could reach with her pinked lips. “Will I see you at the Revival tomorrow?”

"Yes, of course." The question tore Marilyn from her adulation, and she nodded vigorously to answer him. “Oh yes, Reverend, I will- I swear to you.” Her eyes met his, and he could tell just by examining her adoring gaze: he had her wrapped around his finger, and she looked at him as if he were the next coming of Christ.

Good. _Perfect._ Jonas kissed Marilyn's forehead, wishing he could be laying lips elsewhere, before releasing her lovely face. Immediately, overjoyed with her new outlook on life and herself, the beautiful young woman meandered off just as quickly as she had appeared. Her head was in the clouds, she wouldn't have even noticed if she weren't on the ground any longer- and Jonas watched knowingly as she disappeared around the bend.  _Perfect_.

A harlot, eh? A _victim of the sin of lust_  as she had put it? 

Thankfully, if there was anything Jonas Nightingale knew for sure- it was his own tricks. There was no one to pray to, no, no one except for **_him_**. Maybe he did manage to fool her, to lighten the load of her woes through loud words and acceptance of her shame, to earn her admiration and the chance to lavish in that doe-eyed stare that could have brought Samson to his knees without shears: but miracles didn’t exist, and neither did redemption. Oh no, it was all a magic show, smoke and mirrors intended to trick the heart. People don’t change, no, not when they depended on an imaginary catalyst to do so, like _Marilyn_ had chosen to do.

She’d be at the Revival tomorrow, Jonas had no doubt in his mind.  
And he absolutely planned on offering alternative forms of praise to his newly discovered parishioner. She may be _bad_ , and he was certainly sure she was- 

But there was no one as bad as _him_ , the King of Sin.

**Author's Note:**

>  **I** say where and when to fake a miracle.  
>  Get it folks? **There’s no such thing.**


End file.
